


Insomnia

by stephanericher



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:42:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2224359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old habits are hard to break</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insomnia

They could never afford to be heavy sleepers in their youth, never really got more than a few hours at a time even in the best of conditions, took it where they found it in alleyways and tunnels and on roofs and in spare rooms they could sneak into, always on the run from doves or older ghouls or their own demons, always ready to move out or fight at a moment’s notice even if they were simultaneously ridding themselves from the shackles of sleep. Old habits are hard to break, even if they can afford such luxuries as a full night’s sleep most of the time now, and sometimes a wind rustling the tree outside or a creak from the apartment above or a drunk roaming the streets because all of the bars are closed will rouse at least one of them if not both.

Tonight it seems to have been nothing but his own badly-wired brain that wakes Uta up; there’s nothing to suggest noise of any sort other than Renji’s shallow but steady breathing and the creaking of the mattress as he shifts his weight slightly. It’s too early (or is it still considered late instead of early?) for this shit but he doesn’t really feel sleepy—disoriented and tired, but not like he’s going to be able to get back to sleep any time soon. He pushes an errant lock of hair behind his ear and looks down at Renji, huddled under the covers like a hastily-wrapped present. He gets cold surprisingly easily and always steals the blankets, and it’s kind of adorable when Uta’s not freezing his ass off because he doesn’t have anything to cover himself with. He can always find a way to slip into Renji’s arms if he needs too, though—and maybe that’s not such a bad idea right now. Uta scoots down on the bed and pushes aside the mass of blankets to find Renji’s outstretched arm. He lifts it up and settles down against Renji’s torso, pulling the blankets back on top of them. It’s hot but not too hot, much closer to a patch of late-afternoon sun in early autumn than a sauna, a pleasant warmth. It’s easier to clear his mind with the way Renji smells, like musty books mixed with sweat and flour. Renji stirs against him but does not wake, and finally Uta drifts off into an easy slumber.

The next time he awakens is a few hours later; the sky outside is already lightening visibly through the venetian blinds and Renji has rolled to the other side of the bed, taking most of the covers with him. He’s so tightly cocooned in them that there’s no way Uta can wrestle them away without waking him up and it’s so late that there’s not much point in trying to go back to sleep—by the time he does the alarm will be ringing anyway.

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, fingers curled on the edge of the mattress. At any moment he could propel himself off like a swimmer from the starting block, leaping forward to land silently on the wood floor—but he really doesn’t feel like it. He tries to rub the sleep from his eyes, and that failing, steps off gently onto the cool floor and shivers. Maybe he should have tried to steal one of the blankets (or at least worn a shirt)—but he’ll get used to it. He does by the time he reaches the half-open door and slips out into the hall. The walk to the kitchen is longer than it should be, although he’s still not fully awake by the time he gets there.

A fly buzzes lethargically around the cactus by the window; that hole in the screen really needs fixing but they probably won’t get around to it anytime soon (it’s already been more than a year since they moved in and they still haven’t done anything about it). Uta flicks on a light switch and the fly lands for a second on the edge of the flower pot. The refrigerator hums louder, like it’s a rocket about to launch—it never does, but cost of replacement aside it would be cool as hell if it did. The humming dies down to its usual level and Uta sighs. He needs to start making the coffee, fill the machine with the necessary components from their various drawers and prepare the mugs. Renji usually does it (after all, he’s had more experience working at a coffee shop) but Uta’s not bad at it, makes his own sometimes during particularly long days at work when he’s ready to go home before lunchtime and the rest of the day stretches ahead like a desert highway (or what he imagines they’re like from the mediocre western TV shows he’s ended up watching with the volume off on other nights when he can’t sleep). He sets up the machine and presses the button; the sound is familiar but somewhat jarring in the otherwise-quiet room. It’s too small of a space to echo but it sounds as if it’s on the verge. He fetches their mugs from the cabinet, his own white one with a faded logo that he jacked from a diner just because he could and Renji’s chipped pink one, so fat that it almost forms a sphere. He reaches into the jar of sugar cubes and pops three into Renji’s mugs and licks his fingers—mixed with coffee the stuff is revolting but on their own the slightly blood-flavored granules are actually pretty delicious.

“Uta?”

Renji stands in the doorway, squinting in the light and trying to smooth down his rumpled hair. There’s a note of slight distress in his voice, not strong enough for it to be related to one of those recurring nightmares he has about his sister when he wakes up wild-eyed and his voice cracks with nearly every word and he shrinks away from Uta’s touch like it will poison both of them.

“Renji-kun?”

Renji yawns and takes a few steps forward—he won’t voice his concerns, even half-awake, and that is such a dumb Renji thing to do but at this point it’s not even vexing anymore. Uta waits, leaning on the counter, for Renji to shuffle all the way over, and when he finally gets there he wraps Uta in his arms and kisses his neck, open—mouthed but deliberate like his tongue is trying to trace the letters on Uta’s tattoo. He’s always been so honest and open in his actions and affections before sunrise, less inhibited in these even when he inhibits his words. It feels so damn nice like this, this quiet togetherness and his arms around Renji’s neck and the solidness of Renji’s hand on the small of his back and the way his mouth still moves against Uta’s neck and the smell of coffee filling the kitchen. Uta closes his eyes and breathes everything in.


End file.
